The Hunger Games Peeta's POV
by fangirlflails
Summary: I decided to write the Hunger Games from Peeta's perspective. So, this is Peeta's story, basically.


When I wake, it is later than I am used to, and there is a slightly condemning feel in the air. It is the day of the Reaping. Coming from a 'merchant' home, I really shouldn't have anything to worry about, seeing as it is usually kids from the Seam who are chosen. Though, just because I wont have my name in quite as many times as others, doesn't guarantee my safety from the Games.

My father is already downstairs baking, he probably convinced my mother to let me sleep-in today; a rarity in her house. I can feel the heat from the large oven, smell the fresh dough being kneaded to perfection, taste the sweetness from the many cake's I'll probably have to ice before we all file into the square for the Reaping. My brothers are still sleeping, go figure. I can hear their snores all the way down the hall. I pull myself from the covers, and force myself to dress. Surely my mother will beat me if I am not downstairs helping father.  
>As I descend the stairs, I catch something out the window. That girl. The one I gave burnt bread too. She is standing at the back door of mayor Undersee's house. Probably hoping to sell. I remember that day, clear as air.<p>

Its as if I were eleven years-old again. It was raining, a rarity here in Twelve. I had seen her leaving school that afternoon, thin as a sheet, clutching her arms around her torso as if she would fall to piece's if she let go. She probably hadn't eaten in days, maybe weeks even. Later that day, she passed by our bakery, a basket full of fabric glued to her side. She looked desperate. I stared out the window, and before I knew it, I had gone out the door to stop her, to ask her in for tea maybe. I missed my chance by seconds, and she was gone. It felt like hours passed as I stared out the window, hoping against all hope that she would pass by again. I really wanted to talk to her, to help her.

Stricken with overwhelming exhaustion from the days work, I clogged upstairs for bed. Not a minute later I hear my mother swing the bakery door open and start yelling into the alleyway. "Move on! Get out of my trash bins!"

Immediately I ran downstairs and confirmed my suspicions. It was her; Katniss Everdeen. Looking for food in my trash bins. Oh, how I pitied her. Her father had just died, only a few months before. I knew her family was struggling, I just didn't think it had gotten this bad... "Do you want me to call the Peacekeepers?" My mother yelled. "Stupid Seam brats, always going through our trash." she gagged as she said it, withdrawing herself back into the safe of the bakery, slamming the door, as is the lower class of Twelve were disgusting vermin, and didn't deserve to have life.

Before I even knew what I was doing, I had grabbed two of the more expensive loaves of bread and dropped them into the open flame fueling the oven. "What the hell did you do that for, you stupid boy?" She screamed at me as she grabbed the closest thing to her, a marble rolling-pin, and whacked me over the head with it.

"I-I. I don't know! They fell!" I stammered as I pulled the blackened loaves from the fire, head throbbing.

"Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burned bread!"

I walked out of the bakery and toward the pig's pen, always keeping her in my sight without seeming to. She was crouched against a tree, sobbing. Well, I think she was. With all the rain, it made it hard to tell what water came from the sky, and what came from her eyes. I watched her from the corner of my eye as I tore small chunks from a loaf and threw them into the pig's trough. Oh, how I wanted to run out to her in the rain and comfort her, tell her everything would be alright. But of course, my mother would never have me go with a girl from the Seam. Satisfied, my mother walked back into the shop to help a waiting customer. For good measure, I stole a quick glance to the back door to make sure she wasn't watching from a window, and I threw the loaves in Katniss' direction, then made my hasty retreated into the warmth of the bakery.

"Peeta, come on! Lunch will be cold by the time you get your lazy ass down here," My mother yells up to me.

"Coming, mother." I walk into the small area designated for dining, and sit in my usual chair, right in the corner. Off to the side someone has laid out my reaping outfit. Corduroy slacks and a slightly worn white button up shirt. I smile at my mother, something that doesn't occur often, and begin to eat. Fresh bread, potatoes, apples, and stew. Definitely reaping day. We don't normally get to eat like this, so I take as much as I please.

Too soon, it is time to get ready, so I head upstairs to change. We have to look presentable, fancy even, for the reaping. I pull on the slacks, button my shirt, and have a good look in the mirror. I'm a heart breaker. How did my parents make this perfection? "PEETA! Lets go!" Mother calls. Down the stairs, out the door, and we are in the square with all of the others. My father takes me to the side before he is ushered where to stand, and wishes me luck, even gives me a hug, and I thank him. People arrive silently and sign in, as the reaping is also a great opportunity to keep track of the population. After I've signed in, I head over to the roped off area set aside for the sixteen-year-olds, and stand next to a few friends.

I am nervous. I don't really know why, I've never really been nervous at a reaping before. My father has always assured me that I would never be chosen, as we are part of the merchant class of Twelve. Five slips of paper in that large glass ball full of eligible boy's names have 'Peeta Mellark' written on them in small, careful handwriting. "Five in the thousands! There is no way you will be chosen, Peeta." I think the words my father told me quietly. But somehow, today has a sort of finality about it.

The clock strikes two, and my stomach gives a turn. Mayor Undersee steps up to his podium and begins his traditional speech. I lose focus as I drift into a sort of daydream, and miss his speech entirely, and I only notice when the bright, squeaky voice of Effie Trinket fills the square, "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor! Ladies first!" She giggles.

I bring my full attention back to the stage as she walks toward the large glass ball filled with girls names, and watch her dig her hand deep into it and pull out a small slip of paper. She walks back to the microphone, smoothes the paper, and reads 'Primrose Everdeen.'

The next thing I know, Prim is walking up to the stage, and Katniss is screaming after her. "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" Everyone is confused. Twelve isn't known for it's outrageous number of volunteers. Lots of chatter. Katniss is welcomed to the stage, and all I think of, is the day my father pointed her out to me, and made sure to see if the birds really did stop to listen every time she sang. I fell for her, and I never worked up the courage to at least talk to her, and now she is going to die. I feel hollow, like there is nothing left inside me. Now Effie is telling us all to clap for our volunteer, but no one does. Slowly, one by one, the people in the square, touch the three middle fingers of their left hands to their lips and raise them, even I do, as a salute to her.

Haymitch Abernathy. If there is one thing about him you are sure to never forget, it would be his actions at this reaping. He is so drunk, so drunk in-fact, that when he go's to greet and congratulate Katniss, that he falls headfirst from the stage, knocking himself unconscious. I'm not sure this day could really get any worse, but I've been wrong before…

Effie, now ruffled by Haymitch and the volunteer situation, is ready to be done here in District Twelve. She hastens to the boy's ball, and before she has barely had her hand in for a second, she comes up with a small square of paper, walks over to the microphone, and reads the name. Wait- who's name did she just call?

"Peeta Mellark." Effie's voice rings across the square.


End file.
